


Not A Bleedin' Poet

by Phylwannabe



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Light Angst, Past Relationship(s), Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:14:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25006765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phylwannabe/pseuds/Phylwannabe
Summary: The King in the North has returned to Winterfell and his wife.  The Queen in the North wants to discuss her husband's poetic nature.  Jon may not think he is poetic, but Sansa believes otherwise.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark/Ygritte
Comments: 7
Kudos: 95





	Not A Bleedin' Poet

**Author's Note:**

> So, in Season 4, Episode 9, right before the battle at Castle Black, Sam tries to get Jon to describe what it was like to be with Ygritte. Jon puts him off but, finally, just to get Sam to shut up about it, Jon gives it a try and then when Sam is disappointed, he tells him in exasperation, "I'm not a bleedin' poet!" Sam agrees, but I think Jon is wayyyy more poetic than he thinks. So this is my little take on how Sansa would feel, years later, hearing what Jon had said about his first love. Hope you like it!
> 
> BTW, could that TV moment have been a foreshadowing of Jon's true father? After all, Rheagar was described throughout the show as a poet and a romantic. What do you think?

It is the hour of the wolf. Across the vast moors surrounding Winterfell, night creatures frolic, roam, and howl. On the ramparts, Northern sentries, bundled against the winter cold, pace back and forth across their assigned territory, sounding out the watch as the hours pass.

Inside the castle is dark, save for the dimming torches ensconced along the long hallways. It is quiet - Winterfell's inhabitants -- maester and miller, attendants and servants, nobles and small folk -- are all sleeping soundly. All, that is, except for the King and Queen of the North.

The King has been absent from his castle for nearly three moons, traveling to the various holdings in the far North and conferring with the Lords sworn to his service. He arrived home just before dusk the evening prior and the door to the Lord’s Chambers has been barred to all since his return.

Sansa and Jon have made love for hours, using every inch of their great bed in their effort to become reacquainted. Now, their banked passion finally spent, the young couple cuddle together under the furs as they watch the dying flames in the huge fireplace.

Sansa gently rubs her fingertips over her husband’s strong chest, quietly humming a wordless tune. The combination of Sansa’s massage coupled with the warmth and comfort of his first real bed in a fortnight have nearly lulled Jon to sleep. Suddenly, Sansa’s fingertips tap his chest, "Jon, are you asleep?"

"Mmm, almost", comes the drowsy response.

Sansa raises herself on one elbow and shakes him. "I need to talk to you about something."

Jon’s eyes are still closed and he groans, "Can’t it wait until mornin'?" He grasps the arm that is draped across his body, drawing his fingers down to her wrist where he begins to rub gentle circles around her pulse point, hoping to draw his lovely Queen into a shared slumber with him.

Sansa draws her arms from his hold and shakes him again. "I need you to confirm something that Gilly told me while you and Sam were gone. It’s important, Jon."

Jon sighs and rolls onto his side so that he is facing his wife. He knows that if he wants to get any sleep before the cock crows, Jon cannot ignore Sansa’s concerns. She is the most single -minded person...

He props his head on one arm and looks down at Sansa. "All right, sweetling. I’m awake. But make it quick, will you?" He leans forward to kiss her forehead. "I really need some sleep and I promised Davos I would meet with him right after we break our fast in the mornin'."

Sansa bites her lip and looks at him with mischief gleaming in her sparkling blue eyes. "I want to know about the time you recited poetry to Sam."

Jon huffed, "Sansa, it’s too late to play games. I don’t know what nonsense Gilly spouted while we were gone, but you, of all people, know that I am no spinner of romantic verse. I don’t have a poetic bone in my body."

Sansa leans over and places a chaste kiss on her perplexed husband’s lips. "I know you think so, Jon. You believe yourself to be a practical man of the North, all battles and swords and such. But that’s _not_ what Gilly told me."

Jon is truly curious now. He lays back on the pillow and props himself up before pulling Sansa up to join him. "So out with it. Tell me what Gilly told you."

Sansa resumes tracing lazy patterns on Jon’s chest. It is one of her favorite things to do and it will hopefully keep Jon awake and focused. "Gilly said that Sam told her he asked you once about what it was like to, well, you know..."

"More information, please, my Queen," Jon rasped, his attention somewhat distracted by her fingers.

"Gilly said it was when the Night’s Watch was waiting for Mance Rayder’s army to attack Castle Black. You and Sam were standing guard on the top of the Wall and Sam...well, Sam wanted to know about your time with _her._ What it was like _._ "

Jon takes a deep breath, remembering a long ago conversation between him and his best friend. "Aye, he did."

Sansa waits a long moment for her husband to continue, but he says nothing, his head down and his long curls shadowing his face. She pushes herself to a sitting position beside him and takes his hand. "I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, husband, but I need to know if the words Sam told Gilly are the ones you spoke."

"Say them then," comes the quiet command.

Sansa exhales, then looks up at the ceiling, concentrating as she recites from memory the words she had made Gilly repeat over and over again. "You said, ‘There’s this person, this _whole_ other person. And you’re wrapped up in them and they’re wrapped up in you... And...you...for a little...For a little while you’re more than just you...’ "

Sansa pauses, then quietly asks, "Did you say those words, Jon? About Ygritte?"

She has to lean even closer to hear the response. "Aye, I did. And then I told Sam that I wasn’t a bleedin’ poet, no more than I am now!" A long moment extends between the couple and then Jon, suddenly turns to his wife, his low voice harshly desperate. "Sans, that was a long time ago. I loved Ygritte then, yes, I did, but not like – never like – I love you. You _must_ know that."

Sansa takes pity on her tired husband. She touches his face and runs her fingers through his dark hair. "I _know,_ my darling. I am not upset with you. I think your words beautiful."

Jon looks at her and wraps his big hand around her small wrist. "Truly? You are not angry with me?"

Sansa moves to straddle her husband, the furs between them, her legs on either side of his slim hips. She leans forward until she touches his lips with her own and murmurs, "Not at all. How could I be angry with a man who describes in such an amazing way what most of his gender would just refer to as _fucking."_

Sansa draws his full lower lip into her mouth, nibbling until she draws a breathy moan from her husband. "In all my time in Kings Landing and in all parts South, I never heard any man speak so eloquently, so romantically." Sansa holds Jon’s blushing face between her hands and caresses his bearded cheeks. She kisses him again and again, but pulls back as he finally attempts to take control. "Look at me, my King."

Jon’s dark eyes meet hers. Sansa traces the scar that runs down the left side of his face, a scar she knows he received while traveling with Ygritte and the Free Folk. "You are a man of few words, that is true. But never again deny your nature. You are the most romantic man I have ever known."

Jon growls and draws her up flush against his body. "Sansa, all that I said about Ygritte is a thousand times more true about you. When I am with you, I don’t know,...I can’t tell where I start or where I finish. Everything I am,... it is all wrapped up in you...you are my beginnin' and my end. We are _one,_ my dearest girl. My life and all I have is yours. I _love_ you."

King and Queen come together in a passionate kiss. All thoughts of sleep have flown from Jon as he flips his wife and draws her down once again into their bed of rumpled sheets and furs. And as Jon’s lips move along her body, audibly praising whatever god granted him a wife so constantly wet and wanting, Sansa moans, thanking her own gods for her dear Bleedin' Poet.


End file.
